“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
“MPA de DKN. Are you whistling? I can hear whistle to starboard now. Answer.”
But the Pavonia was not uttering a sound.
“DKN de MPA,” rattled Micky. “We are not whistling. Must be some other ship. Can it be Saxonia?”
“MPA de DKN,” answered the operator on the Washington. “Saxonia says not. Cannot find out who it is. Devil of a night.”
“DKN de MPA—Bet your sweet life!” said Micky, and listened with all his ears.
But he was not listening any harder than Captain Ponsonby on the bridge. For four mortal hours that ponderous ass had strained every nerve of his aural organs for the faintest noise of escaping steam—but in vain. He knew the Saxonia was due at about that time, but there was no way to place her in the fog. She might be either one or twenty miles away. She might be—
“H-n-n-n-n-n!”
Without warning there came suddenly a prolonged blast close upon his starboard bow.
The Saxonia!
He sprang to the indicator and with his heart in his throat gave the engineer “Reverse209
